


In This Quiet Room

by thewitchofgeek



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate take, BDSM themes, Black Hat is most defintely an Abomination, Demencia isn't stupid (can't be dumb if you're an assassin/demolitionist), Established Relationship, Flug is a Sinnamon Bun that will definitely kill you, Flug is more than a bit Not Good, Monster Flug (soul/heart eater), Multi, Nobody is OK (But they pretend they are), Scouser Flug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-03-29 08:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 12,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewitchofgeek/pseuds/thewitchofgeek
Summary: They had it all, behind closed doors - power, adoration, and the fear of the masses.  But in time, every empire crumbles.  This is the story of how an empire was rebuilt from ashes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Made A Promise I Couldn't Even Keep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13896549) by [thewitchofgeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewitchofgeek/pseuds/thewitchofgeek). 



A crash sounded from across the manor, a howl echoing through the souls of whomever was close enough to hear - an unearthly, inhuman wail, followed by a sudden dearth of sound and a sort of null feeling in what passed for his soul.

The only noise now was the sound of the racing footsteps of one Doctor Flug Slys. He had to get out. The Agents were closing in, but first he had to know Demencia was all right. She pissed him off at times, but Flug knew if she were gone, he’d break beyond repair.

A loud clatter came from a room further down the corridor. Flug picked up the pace, praying to a god long forsaken that the clatter was Demencia fighting off her attackers. A scream of “AND STAY DOWN!” was punctuated by the crunch of broken bones.

Peering inside the room, the doctor slumped and let out a sigh of relief. Demencia was in fact alive, although her arm was most certainly broken. On high alert, her head turned towards the door.

“Any sign of Black Hat?” Her eyes were wide, small fangs biting into her lip out of worry. “I know he’s probably fine but…”

Flug averted his eyes – he didn’t want to lie, and he couldn’t let her lie to herself. He knew that she had felt that tear in her soul, at least to some degree. “We need to get going,” he stated quietly, turning to leave.

“Flug.” Demencia placed her hand on the scientist’s shoulder. “Where is he?”

“Not here.”

“Flug. Where. Is. He?”

“I told you!” he shouted, turning on his heel to face her. “He’s GONE, DEM. We’re all that’s left! It’s just us.”

Demencia’s eyes flickered with emotions Flug couldn’t quite name. He’d never been the best at reading people, and that lack of talent had only worsened after he had sold his soul. “We need to leave, Dem,” Flug choked out. “If there’s any chance of getting him back, we’ll need to be alive to enact it. If we don’t go, we’re next.”

As they left, Demencia somehow knew that things would never be quite the same, no matter what they did to fix it. It would never be just the three, it would instead be Black Hat, Flug, Demencia, and a boatload of baggage.


	2. Chapter 2

The remains of Hat Manor could be seen burning from all the way across the island. Demencia chanced a look at the rear view mirror of their car – she couldn’t see any of the estate, but she sure as hell could see the smoke that came from the fires they had set in order to escape. Turning to Flug, she grimaced.

“When do you think we can come back?” Dem wasn’t stupid; after all, one couldn’t be a successful demolitionist or assassin without a measure of caution. She had her own brand of insanity, one that she never let bleed into her professional life. It was different in private – there she could let everything go.

The doctor bowed his head, taking off the bag he wore. In hindsight, it only drew attention and he should have done so much earlier, but now would have to do. He rubbed at his temples and gazed into the distance.

“I’m... I’m not sure. Right now, we need to focus on getting off the island. It’d be optimal if we could make it to the mainland by tomorrow, but… I’m not sure how feasible that is.” He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. “Not to mention they’re probably looking for our cars at the bridges.”

Demencia snorted. “You’re acting like that’s a problem. We steal one. Turn your shirt inside out, take off the coat, keep the bag off. Use a pair of my shades if you’re worried about your eyes getting noticed.” The hybrid leaned her seat back, putting her feet on the dashboard. “Stop at an empty lot, park, and then we steal a car from the nearest burger joint. Hell, steal some burgers while we’re at it.”

Flug shook his head in disbelief. “You’re… how can you take this so calmly? Black Hat’s gone, the manor’s gone, the company’s gone! What do we have, Dem?” he stated, voice wavering.

“We’ve got each other. Yeah, we don’t have as much as we’re used to, and we certainly don’t have everyone with us, but you’re acting like we’re fucked beyond repair.” She paused. “After all, I doubt the heroes know about the offshore accounts – the Swiss ones, though, those are definitely seized.”

Flug sighed, turning into a lot. “I… I don’t…”

“Shush. I get it. You’ve been with Blackie the longest out of all of us. Since the 19th century, right? I get it. You hardly remember a time apart. But I do - I remember being alone in Peru back in the 50’s. I suppose that’s how I’m holding together, I’m falling back on relatively recent habits.” She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “Didn’t think I’d have to, but here we are.”

Flug’s eyes widened. “Nineteenth? Dem – what did... what do you know?”

Demencia opened her eyes slowly, looking at the scientist. “Enough to make a guess. Not common to have half a preserved kidney and a heart in a jar. Also, your eighth edition? Ninth edition? Whatever, your Grey’s Anatomy had pretty old notations in your handwriting. I’m not stupid, Flugbug, it just doesn’t matter. You haven’t killed me for thotting it up yet, forgive me if I’m not worried.”

All Flug could do was stare. “You… figured that out not from me telling you, but from publishing dates, handwriting, and two organs?”

“Also, you tend to get a little twitchy whenever a flirtatious villain comes by, especially when they’re wearing revealing clothes. When you aren’t wearing a bag on your head, you’re an open book.” She grinned rakishly. “Also, a shabby, light haired guy and some shadowy dapper fuck? Please, it wasn’t that difficult.”

“Way to make me feel inadequate,” Flug said wryly, putting the gearshift into park. “Come on, time to get out.” He narrowed his eyes, looking at Demencia’s outfit. “Check the back, I think there might be a larger hoodie somewhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Just going to leave this observation here and incorporate this HC.](http://tyr-the-shining.tumblr.com/post/171726644599/villainous-and-the-identity-of-jack-the-ripper)


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, there was a large hoodie in the back, and in all honesty, it was more akin to a dress on Demencia’s frame than anything else. The real struggle, at least in Flug’s opinion, was convincing Demencia that her signature hairstyle was a bit too distinctive.

Flug grit his teeth. “Would it be so terrible to just cut a few feet off? It’s not like it won’t grow back, Dem.”

The hybrid’s eyes narrowed. “I have spent all too long growing my hair out. When you spend decades in pursuit of a Look, then you’ll have room to talk.”

“Dem. Please. The goal is to be inconspicuous. Hair the size of a small child? That’s the exact opposite of what we’re going for.”

Demencia took the pocketknife from the scientist’s hands. “FINE. But I’ll be the one to cut it.” She grasped her ponytail and began sawing at the base.

Flug sighed. “You put up so much of a fight to just CUT IT ALL OFF YOURSELF?” His fingers twitched, automatically heading to a pocket that wasn’t there. He hissed. “Remind me to stop by a convenience store. I don’t have the nicotine or the caffeine required in order to deal with today.” He knelt down, picking up the fallen ponytail. The impromptu haircut looked surprisingly good on Demencia, he thought, all the while glancing about for a trashcan. In this part of town, the sight of random dumpsters in lots weren't uncommon; they were the remnants of various long-abandoned construction projects. “We should probably pick up some burners while we’re at it.”

The hybrid rolled her eyes. “At this point, it might be better to just go all out at the convenience store.”

Flug thought about this for a second and spoke. “No, gas station convenience stores are more monitored than you’d think. We’ll get a car first, then drive to the mainland. We’ll get the rest there.”

The duo walked in silence for a few blocks. This part of the island seemed to be quite unaware of the havoc going on downtown. And as much as it bothered her, Demencia had to admit it did afford them some needed protection – the less heroes looking for anyone vaguely resembling the two, the better. Looking to the side, she stopped and grabbed at Flug’s arm. “McD’s to the right.”

Flug merely nodded and reached into his pocket, grabbing what appeared to be a small keyfob. Pointing it to a nondescript minivan, he pressed the single button on the device, unlocking the car. “Our Subaru awaits. Actually, that’s a lie. I have no idea if this’s actually a Subaru.”

Demencia snorted. “Do this often?”

A wry grin. “Enough to merit the necessity of a universal key. You’d be surprised at the amount of transactions that go wrong when neither of you are looking.” The scientist opened up the driver’s door, then turned to Demencia. “You getting in?”

Demencia had been looking towards the PlayPlace out in front of the vendor, watching a frazzled mother attempt to round up three rather unruly children. “Yep. Just drive by the front for me?”

Flug stopped all movement and looked at her. “…Why?”

“I just want to see that lady lose that last thread of sanity she has.” 

Flug sighed, smiled, and obliged. It was the little things in life, he supposed.


	4. Chapter 4

The impromptu carjackers had, in fact, swung by the front of the McDonald’s, where Dem proceeded to honk the horn and flip off the frazzled soccer mom once she turned to look. Speed limits were broken, red lights were run, and they were well on their way to the bridge leading off the island. Escape was only a few blocks away.

Tensions grew higher within the minivan as they neared the bridge’s gate. As Flug had expected, there was a barricade. He turned his head to look at the backseat. Jackpot – a copy of Vogue and a jacket bearing the logo of some sports team he couldn’t place.

“Dem, get the magazine and that hoodie out the back. I’ve got a plan.”

“What would the plan be?” she asked drily, although she still obliged Flug’s request.

“Read that magazine like your life depends on it. Don’t look up for anything. You’ll need to be a self-absorbed primadonna for this to work,” the scientist stated, pulling on the jacket.

“This sounds like an eighth of a plan at best, Flugbug.”

“Still better than no plan at all,” he muttered, driving forward.

They neared the checkpoint rapidly. An armed figure approached their car, rapping on their window. Flug let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes. “Bloody hell, what is this? American immigration and border control?”

The officer narrowed their eyes. “Where you from, kid?”

“Born in Cheshire. Moved to Guadalajara a few years back.” The half-lie rolled off his tongue smoothly. So far, so good.

“What brings you here, then?”

“My cousin.” He waved to Demencia. “We’re going to be touring a few colleges on the mainland.” Dem flipped a page, snorting.

“Can’t believe she left him for that asswipe,” she muttered. “Gene, we done here?”

Flug kept eye contact with the guard. “As soon as they say we are, Erika.” A beat. “Why’s there a barricade, sir? I don’t remember one being here when I came in a few days ago.”

“Bit of a scuffle downtown involving a crime circuit, from what I can tell ya.”

‘Gene’ turned his head sharply to his ‘cousin’. “Eri – you said that crime was low here!”

Demencia stretched and adjusted her seat. “So what? I lied. You worry too much as it is!”

The officer rolled his eyes. These two kids were hardly dangerous criminals. He nodded, waving them forward. “Move along.”

Out the rear view mirror, the two fugitives could see the officer moving to the next car.

“An eighth of a plan, huh?” Flug muttered as they crossed. “Seemed to work pretty damn well for being only an eighth of a plan.”

“The details sold them. Why Cheshire, though?”

“A good lie should contain an element of truth, Dem.”

“Would’ve thought you were from Gloucester, with the plane obsession an’ all.”

“Bit after my time. I did visit later, though.”

The remainder of the ride to the mainland was bathed in silence, the only noise the cars around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now imagine tiny Flug speaking in a [Scouse accent.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpxPppmgDQk) You're welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

The duo had driven inland for two hours before calling it a night, stopping by a seedy motel. One room with one twin bed – it was hardly optimal, but they’d make do. Besides, Demencia mused, the closeness was certainly comforting. It let each other know that they were alive and still together, even if one of them was missing.

Demencia stifled a sob as she stared into the cracked mirror of the motel’s bathroom, swallowing ill-gotten painkillers. Gods, how long had it been since she had felt this alone? It had to have been at least ten years. She smiled wistfully, letting her memories take her to a happier time.

\--

It hadn’t been the most successful operation, and she had barely escaped the facility without being detected. Her eyes raked over the ill-gained blueprints she had been sent in to obtain. She couldn’t make heads or tails of them, but that was fine. That’s why they had Flug. 

A bullet whizzed past her torn ear. Her eyes narrowed. She could have sworn she lost her pursuers a few miles back, but apparently they were more persistent than she had thought. Drawing her mace, she prepared for combat.

What she hadn’t expected was for a ray of light to piece the torso of her assailant. Turning, she saw Flug lower his own weapon. Demencia furrowed her brow. “I had this under control, Slys,” she stated, tone very nearly venomous.

“You were taking a bit too long for my liking,” he stated offhandedly, looking off to the side. “Boss won’t say it, but I’m fairly sure he was worried as well.”  
Black Hat? Worried? There was an idea. “Never seen him care yet,” she spat, trying to push past the doctor.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “You… you don’t honestly think that, do you?” He sounded perplexed.

“He doesn’t give a shit about me. Black Hat’s in it for the money and nothing else. Have you ever seen him be nice? Soft? Don’t lie to me, Slys.”

He inhaled sharply, as if struck. “Just… just get in the car, Dem. There’s a first aid kit under the passenger’s seat.”

The assassin glared, but acquiesced. Her injuries were minor, but painkillers wouldn’t go amiss. As she walked off, Flug fished a phone out of his labcoat.

“We need to talk.”

\--

Demencia didn’t quite understand what was happening back at the manor – Flug was acting different, though how, she couldn’t quite name. Not to mention, whatever was going on with Black Hat.

She had recently come to the conclusion that a relationship with her boss was an unobtainable dream… but something was amiss now. Every so often, it seemed like the abomination in question would – dare she say it? – soften. Yes, there was no doubt about it, and Demencia planned to get to the bottom of this.

The workday was long over (not that villainy had regular hours) and now was the perfect time to get some answers. Approaching Black Hat’s office, she gulped. Was the possibility of harm worth getting answers? She shook her head. Yes. Of course it was. She rapped on the door. Better safe than sorry.

Scrabbling noises came from inside. Perhaps Flug was meeting with Black Hat? Black Hat’s familiar rasp greeted her. “Come in.”

Walking in, she could only stare at the sight that awaited her eyes. Well. This was awkward. Of all things she had expected to see, it certainly wasn’t Black Hat without his hat and monocle, or a Flug with a suspiciously rumpled shirt and conspicuously missing both his labcoat and bag.

“I can? Come back?” she squeaked out, voice cracking.

Flug glanced towards Black Hat, who shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We would have had to tell you eventually.” The office was all too quiet. “What did you want, Demencia?”

“Er… I was wondering why you… Y’know, it doesn’t really matter,” she babbled.

Flug rested his head in his hands. “Emotional honesty: the one weakness of the Black Hat Organization. Gods forbid that there’s a hero who can weaponize that.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair before getting out of his seat and approaching the hybrid, cupping her cheek in his hand.

“Apparently we haven’t been clear enough,” the scientist whispered, before leaning in. “I thought I was pretty open about this, but… apparently not,” he stated, seizing her lips with his own. “That’s what this is about,” Flug stated, pulling away.

“What?” Demencia just couldn’t understand it. “But?”

“We both are rather… fond… of you,” Black Hat explained, hesitating slightly. “We wouldn’t be adverse to you joining us, but we’d much rather you thought about it.”

“What that means is that we haven’t been treating you quite the way you deserve, and because our dear boss is an emotionally constipated fucknugget, this didn’t quite come out the way we planned,” Flug whispered, pulling away after the sentence was completed. “Just... think about it.”

She hadn’t taken more than a day before accepting, and she hadn’t regretted it.

\--

Even now, she still didn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an attempt at sex in this chapter.

Flug knocked on the bathroom door. “You alive in there? Been in there a while.”

Dem shook herself out of her stupor, touching her face only to find vaguely damp tracks. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Flug scoffed. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. As I remember it, you DO have a broken arm, and it still needs setting. I’m coming in.” The door opened, revealing a wet-cheeked Demencia.

“Flugbug, really, I’m fine,” she protested. “It was a clean break. You know how fast those heal for me.”

“If you’re one-hundred percent fine, I’m one-hundred percent human,” the doctor muttered. “And we all know how true that isn’t.” He felt her arm and pursed his lips. Demencia had been absolutely right; her arm was already healing. “I wouldn’t use that for the next few days. You’re right in that it’s well on its way to healing, but let’s err on the side of caution, okay?”

“You just said I wasn’t fine, and then declared that I WAS fine. Make up your mind, doctor.” 

“There are more pains than physical pain alone, Dem. I’m not fine, myself. I might be unharmed, but I’m by no means alright.” Flug pulled her close. “It’s okay. We’ll be fine,” he whispered.

“Who are you trying to convince, Flugbug? Me? Or yourself?”

It took Flug a few seconds to respond. “Both of us, because nobody else’ll tell us this,” he mumbled, resting his head on her shoulder. “We should probably get to sleep. We’re going to need the rest for tomorrow.”

Demencia was the one to break the hug, ducking out to disrobe and toss her makeshift dress and bra onto the dresser, taking her underwear into the bathroom to make a vague attempt at cleaning them. She eyed Flug. “Might want to do the same, unless you want to wear dirty underwear tomorrow. Not going to have time to dry them in the morning. Do ‘em now, and they can air-dry.”

Flug gulped. “Y-yeah. Might be an idea. Just give me a second.”

Demencia snorted. “Really? Now?”

“It’s a natural response to adrenaline!” he squeaked.

“A miracle you didn’t die to your libido on a daily basis then.”

“I came here to escape the law and I honestly feel so attacked right now.”

“Well, I came here to sleep and I honestly feel a boner right now.”

“You did not just meme at me.”

“What if I did? Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Flug’s eyes dilated. “Dem. Please. Don’t do this to me right now.”

Dem turned off the water and handed Flug the soap as she headed to the shower. “Pants off and get on the bed – at least, if that’s something you’d want...”

Flug’s pupils widened to the size of a normal human’s iris, a white star in a sea of void. Few could have disrobed and washed faster. Meanwhile, Demencia was checking his wallet. Jackpot - the little foil treasure she had sought was still in date. Only one, though – they’d have to get more after this.

As her partner entered the main room once more, she proceeded to chuck the little packet at his head. “Hop to it.” He couldn’t have unwrapped it fast enough for his liking, proceeding to fumble the catch and fail to tear it several times. 

Demencia groaned, practically launching herself in her haste to remedy her partner’s incompetence. “Give me that!”

A ripping sound and then silence as two pairs of eyes followed the halves of the packet on their journey downwards. “Well. That happened.” 

“That was a thing that occurred, yes.”

“In my defense, I didn’t think it would rip so easily, not to mention that if that was the strength of that kind of condom, we totally dodged a bullet.”

“I’m just… fuck. I’m just… How does this even happen?” Flug choked out, making a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh.

Demencia flopped onto the bed, covering her head with a pillow. “Stupid fucking… why. WHY.” Incoherent screaming came from underneath the pillow, followed by hysterical laughter. It was just so stupid – things like this didn’t just happen! Weren’t things like this limited to shitty romantic comedies? A moan of frustration. Either way, she supposed, the mood was dead, and any sexual desire she had exhibited before had long fucked off into the abyss.

She peeked over the edge of the pillow, and moved over to the edge of the mattress. “I swear, if I don’t at least get some grade-A spooning, I’m filing a complaint with the universe.”

“I think I can handle that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I did say it was just an attempt.


	7. Chapter 7

_She couldn’t complain too much_ , Flug thought. He did end up giving Demencia grade-A cuddles, although he had lost temporary use of his right arm some hours ago. It could have been worse – she could be lying on the arm with functional nerves, he mused, his free hand running over the right half of his face, hesitating on the rougher patches of skin. Slowly pulling his hand away, he noticed traces of concealer. Flug snorted. Next time they went for supplies, they’d have to get makeup wipes. Bar soap wouldn’t wash off makeup quite as well as he had hoped.

Replacing his arm around Dem, the scientist let his mind wander. How long had it been since he had gotten these scars? It was a few years into Prohibition - 1922? Yeah, that sounded about right. Had it really been so long?

\--

The first thing Flug could easily identify as the cause of this disaster was Prohibition – if teetotalers hadn’t levied for alcohol bans, there most certainly wouldn’t be a need for bootleggers and suppliers. The second thing was his lover’s greed and his own willingness to please.

Alcohol was already addictive as it was – why not make a variant that made the drinkers reliant on only their product to scratch that itch? It was the perfect form of a trapped market – who would they complain to? The police?

As smoke filled the room and beams crashed around him, Flug thought this was a rather fine irony. The schmucks buying it hadn’t noticed, nor had the authorities – no, their downfall was the other joint in the area, who had taken offense to their ostensibly lower prices (but infinitely more addictive wares).

The door was in sight, he just had to get there! The crash of the ceiling collapsing in front of the exit punctuated this thought. Flug grimaced – door was out of the question now – there was only the window as a feasible option. But the real question would be if he could break it – well, there was only one way to check.

As the flames crept higher, death via smoke inhalation was starting to become a very real threat. If he survived this, he’d insist on lab safety protocols. Why hadn’t he thought about this as a possibility?

His eyes landed on one of the few chairs in the room. Metal. Great. The scientist retreated his arms into his coat, wrapping his hands in the sleeves. It would have to do, even if it wasn’t ideal, he supposed as he gripped the chair and swung.

He hadn’t thought about whether this would knock anything else over.

This would be a mistake that would haunt him for however long he would live.

The window did break, but he wouldn’t be able to exit, as a metal beam had pinned Flug to the ground. Tears welled up. He’d expected to die violently, there wasn’t any question about that – but burning alive had never been a consideration.

As his head and hopes fell, Flug’s eyes lit upon it – the small handgun he had saved for emergencies. The magazine still held the original six bullets he had put in so long ago. Shaking, he aimed out the window and fired three times, waiting ten seconds between each shot. The chances of someone coming to this district at this time of night was remote, but a slim chance was better than nothing.

The last thing he saw before blacking out was a figure peering into the window, horrified.

The next thing he saw after was the same horrified face, now missing a large chunk of their throat.

Flug merely tossed the body into the fire. He must have been worse off than he had thought, especially if he had devoured his savior whilst unconscious.

He’d later learn that the man had been a rather prominent humanitarian. _Fitting that his death would be in the pursuit of saving a life_ , Flug joked. 

He couldn’t bring himself to truly smile as he said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually adds monster!Flug to the fic.


	8. Chapter 8

Demencia was better at lying than most people thought. She’d been lying to herself all her life. It wasn’t hard to fake sleep just to keep Flug close.

When was the first time she had felt this sort of warmth? It certainly hadn’t been as a child, of that much she was sure. What little memories she had of other people during that time were hardly pleasant, most of them repressed out of self-preservation.

\--

She had rarely seen other people since her abandonment, perhaps a few times in what others would call a year. How long ago that was, she couldn’t say. Time ran together.

What differentiated this person? What were they looking for? They were obviously looking for something, and they often talked to a small box. About what, she wasn’t sure – the words didn’t quite make sense. She wondered if this was like those times that people did this on purpose, so she wouldn’t understand. They did that a lot around her, at least they did back then.

Then they left her, and then they didn’t any more.

Because they were gone. She was alone.

She stifled a sob, and the figure in the makeshift camp tensed and ruffled through a few papers. "Ama nanay’sunkia?" The figure hissed. “¡Mierda - no puedo haber dicho eso correctamente!”

_“I will not hurt you? Shit – I can’t have said that right!”_

Ah. This she understood. “Mal Runasimi. Pero lo intentaste, y eso es más que otros,” she whispered from her perch in the trees above.

_“Bad Runasimi (Quechuan). But you tried, and that is more than others did.”_

“¿Tu hablas español? ¡Fantástico! No creo que pueda hablar así durante mucho tiempo.; mis notas no son muy buenas,” the man admitted. “¿Donde estan mis modales? Llámame Flug. Te he estado buscando por un tiempo.”

_“You speak Spanish? Fantastic! I don’t think I could talk like that for long; my notes aren’t very good. Where are my manners? Call me Flug. I have been looking for you for a while.”_

She laughed. Looking? For her? Surely a lie. “Si estás aquí para matarme, dudo que puedas. Sin embargo, sería divertido verte intentarlo.”

_“If you are here to kill me, I doubt you could. It would be funny to see you try, however.”_

He only laughed and took off the lenses covering his eyes, revealing pure black eyes with white irises. “Ellos piensan que eres una monstruo, ¿verdad?” He looked up, grinning. Were human teeth supposed to be that sharp? “No, no han visto un monstruo. No me han conocido.”

_“They think that you are a monster, right? No, they haven't seen a monster. They haven't met me.”_

She seemed to solidify slightly at that, pale, but finally visible. “¿Que eres?” she asked, fascinated. She wanted to creep closer – but old habits are hard to break.

_“What are you?”_

A wry smile. “Te avisaré cuando lo descubra. Por ahora, no hay nombre para lo que soy.” He shook his head. He was off track, and he knew it. “Pero esto no es sobre mí. Estoy aquí para ofrecerte una oportunidad, del tipo que solo viene una vez en la vida.”

_“I’ll let you know when I find out. For now, there is no name for what I am. But this isn't about me. I'm here to offer you an opportunity, the kind that only comes once in a lifetime.”_

She stilled. “Estoy escuchando.”

_“I’m listening.”_

“Estoy seguro de que quieres que los que te dejaron aquí sufran. Mi ... mi empleador desea ofrecerle esa oportunidad y la oportunidad de superarse. La oportunidad de usar tus habilidades.”

_“I'm sure that you want to make those who left you here suffer. My... my employer would like to offer you that opportunity, and the opportunity to better yourself. The opportunity to use your skills.”_

By this point, she was entirely visible, and grinning like a maniac, an unfamiliar warmth flooding her body. “¿Cuándo puedo comenzar?”

_“When can I begin?”_


	9. Chapter 9

The hours following her recruitment were a blur. One minute she was in her forest prison, another she was well on her way out towards a bustling city, and in short time she was having new clothes shoved towards her. Apparently what she was wearing wasn’t “in vogue” – she scoffed at this. It wasn’t as if women made it a point of exploring ruins in the Amazon - all the clothes she owned were stolen from various research teams. Forgive her if she was wearing modified menswear.

She did have to admit, though, the outfits she was given were alright – they were easy to move in, and the green wasn’t an unappealing shade. 

One of the few things that she would remember clearly though, was The Introduction.

The doctor had pulled her aside before this meeting.

“I’m not going to warn you other than this once. What you’ve signed on for, who you’ve signed your allegiance to – the job is dangerous, and your boss infinitely more so. No matter how unassuming he might look today, know that if you step out of line, he’d have no trouble killing you, and could do so with only the use of his little finger.”

The hybrid looked towards Flug. “How do you deal with it?”

“I’m hardly in the same position. I’ve… become indispensible.” A cagey answer, but fine. She could deal with that.

The doctor rapped on the door. “Sir? She’s here.”

Without any action of his own, the door swung open. Nobody was behind it; no one was even near it. It had opened on its own. She suddenly had the suspicion that everything she thought she knew would be turned on its head.

She wasn’t wrong.

There was only one person in the room besides them – if what was in front of her could be called a person at all. No, what she was looking at was the shifting darkness reflected in pools of water, the overcast night sky on a new moon. She was staring into the abyss, and she was horribly outclassed.

A derisive snort from the creature in front of her. “She doesn’t look like much.”

Oh, that was _it._ She leapt into action, a furious blur of motion and rage determined to prove this shady asshat wrong. In less than five seconds, she had bounded the fifteen feet to the desk, leapt over it, grasped the stiletto knife serving as a letter opener, and pointed it at her new employer’s neck.

Flug tensed. Would this be a record time of death for a new employee? _Well,_ he supposed, _at least this one didn’t have a paper trail he’d need to clean up._

Instead, the monstrosity in a three-piece suit laughed. It was the rasp of a chainsmoker, if said chainsmoker had also gargled nails and chased it with acid. “I see,” they stated, nudging the knife away with a single gloved talon. She had been using her full strength to keep it there, and _he just nudged it away._

“What’s your name?”

“If I ever had one, I was never called it.”

“I’d suggest you pick one then. I can hardly just call you _girl._ So impersonal.”

She backed away. It was quickly becoming apparent that she had none of the power here.

“How do you feel about Demencia as a name?”

Flug groaned, causing her to look at him, eyes demanding an explanation. “It’s an illness that causes one to lose their sense of self, common sense, and often memories.”

She thought about it. Her past was blurrier than she’d care to admit, she never really had a strong sense of self to begin with, and common sense was overrated, in her personal opinion. She grinned, turning back to the monster at the desk. " _Perfect._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the green dress I'm picturing.](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB17lT5KFXXXXXVXpXXq6xXFXXXa/Plus-Size-Dot-Print-A-Line-Summer-Midi-Dress-Women-2017-Vintage-dresses-Audrey-Hepburn-Backless.jpg_640x640.jpg)


	10. Chapter 10

Back in the present, Demencia snickered, waking Flug out of a light doze.

“You little shit!” he whispered, faking venom. “You mean to tell me I fell asleep with my arm pinned for no reason at all?”

Dem snorted. “Had no idea holding me was such an imposition, Flugbug~”

The mock venom faded entirely. “You know I didn’t mean it –“

“Yeah, I’m aware.” She shifted, freeing Flug’s arm. “Do you remember when I chose my name?”

Her partner snorted and nuzzled into her neck. “How could I forget? It was a terrible joke that was all too fitting.”

“Even more fitting now. I’ve heard us referred to as a blight on all sentient beings.”

Flug stifled a laugh. “A blight? Christ, call us a plague at least – blight’s a bit of an understatement.” He squinted his eyes, attempting to bring the glowing numbers of the cheap bedside alarm clock into focus. “Damn, already three in the morning?”

Dem hummed. “Yep. I’m gonna pass out, I think. What time we getting up?”

Flug yawned. “Was thinking some time around seven.”

“Any particular reason?” Dem murmured, already beginning to lose the fight with consciousness. It had been a long day, and realizing how late it actually was seemed to kick that fact back into her memory.

“Rush-hour traffic hits around eight.” He draped his arm over her and continued. “Leave any earlier, any later, more of a chance we’ll stick out.”

Demencia grunted and moved closer. “Whatever. Wake me up when you’re out of the shower.”

“Alright.”

\------

He hadn’t been wrong – the rush hour traffic was convenient cover, especially since all that was on talk radio was the news of their supposed downfall.

_“So what’s your take on the recent upset in the super-circuit?”_

_“I don’t know, Tom, I’m not entirely convinced that they’re dead.”_

_“Why? Why? Name ONE reason you have to believe those assholes escaped? Investigative teams found two bodies, didn’t they?”_

_“Well, testing hasn’t been conclusive as to whether those were actually the bodies of Doctor Flug Slys and Demencia – the fact that neither had been caught prior doesn’t exactly help.“_

_“So you think those were random bodies.”_

_“I’m not saying anything either way, I’m just saying that I wouldn’t put it past them to dress two dead heroes as themselves and torch their old base to cover their tracks.”_

Flug tensed. He had hoped that the corpses would buy them a bit more time. Gritting his teeth, he switched to another channel.

_“Angelus, do we have any confirmation on whether the bodies found belong to the two known associates of Black Hat?”_

_“We are currently operating under the presumption that the bodies are decoys; if you see any suspicious figures, you are highly encouraged to call our hotline. We are currently working around the clock to resolve all loose ends.”_

_“Angelus, is it true that these plans were based off of information gathered by deceased agents from the Men Without Hats? How long has this operation been in planning?”_

_“…No comment to your first question, to the second… four or so years.”_

_“Angelus!”_

_“Angelus?”_

_“I’m sorry, any further questions will be addressed at a later da-”_

_“Angelus – is it true that you killed Black Hat?”_

_“I… Yes. I did, but not without sacrifice. Many have died to get us the information needed in order to kill that abomination.”_

Flug scoffed, turning off the radio. “Killed Black Hat? No, Angelus, all you did was seal him.”

Demencia narrowed her eyes, glaring at the stereo as if their current situation was its fault. “That’s what you’re focusing on? I’m focusing on the fact that the heroes aren’t convinced by the decoys.”

“I was fully prepared for that, Dem. Hell, I was expecting it. We just needed a day or so head-start.”

“So what’s our next move?”

“Well we have two contacts that would most likely help us, out of fear if nothing else. The only question is if we’d want to drive to Seattle or New Orleans first.”

“Who’s in New Orleans?”

Flug sighed. “…Dimas. The Puppeteer.” Dem opened her mouth, ready to spew vitriol. “I know. I’m not a fan either – but the guy’s got some talents that could prove useful. I’m mainly referring to his skill with poppetry.” He sighed. “I’ve heard rumors that he’s used it for similar situations.”

“So how are we getting him to help us? Fear? Money?”

“Probably a mix of both – with what just happened, I doubt that he thinks we’ve got much up our sleeves. Flash a bit of teeth and a sizable check, and all apprehension will evaporate in short order.”

“In truth, I’m more angry that this is another identity I’ll have to burn. After Dimas, Slys is dead.” He thumped his hands on the horn. “FUCKING SHIT, MOVE!”

Demencia snorted, leaning her seat back. “What’s the new name, then?”

“Haven’t used Doctor Sturlesson in a while. It wasn’t like Sturlesson was a known name in villainy – no, I kept out of the limelight then.” He paused, thoughts racing. “I wonder… Dem, there should be an app in my phone, the picture’s just a notebook, no title to the app. When you pull it up, there should be a request for a password - it’s 5283. See if there’s an entry for a certain Terrin Arsenault.”

“There is. What’s this for, anyway?”

“If Slys is dead and a new villain pops up with the same look, there wasn’t much of a point to burning Slys, was there? Arsenault’s old hat at outfitting – they’re the best of the best.” Flug pulled over, extending his hand for the phone and pressing the name.

_“Arsenault Outfitters, allô?”_

“I’ve heard tell that fashion is a language that creates itself in clothes to interpret reality.”

A click from the other end. _“And I’ve heard that he with the cleanest clothes isn’t necessarily the cleanest. You called for a reason. The line is secure.”_

“I’ll need three Ulster Overcoats. Charcoal shade, Kevlar-tweed weave, if you have it. Just tweed if you don’t. Measurements should be under the second tab of the account profiles.” Demencia tapped his shoulder, showing him a picture of a rather revealing bodysuit. that oddly revealed almost nothing at all. “I’d also need a Kevlar bodysuit for the woman on the third tab. Add a studded leather jacket to the mix.”

A scoff of derision. _“Do I have Kevlar blends? I could hardly stay in business without them. As for the commissions, they’ll be done in a week.”_

“Four days and I’ll triple the payment. I’m running on a schedule, and that’s already granting you time I don’t have.”

_“Four days? Who do you think you are to demand this? No, I am no miracle worker. If you wish this of me, I need significantly more than triple.”_

“Who am I indeed…” Flug trailed. “I suppose I can understand how recent events have led to such confusion. Perhaps the account number you can charge it to will persuade you to hurry this along.”

_“Tch – doubtful, but it’d be funny to see your attempt at intimidation – why not, go ahead.”_

“Eighteen, fifty-six, eighty-one.” Silence. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

Furious typing and silence. _“Forgive me – I was under the impression that-"_

“That we were dead? Yes, that was the intent. I’m expecting them in four days. Don’t disappoint me.” Flug disconnected the call and reached for a stick of gum. “Want one?”


	11. Chapter 11

The duo arrived in Houston at noon the next day, after having slept and taken a detour to a Wall-to-Wall Mart for a few changes of clothes, a few days worth of food, and toiletries.

“Well,” Demencia commented, breaking the silence. “What now? Are we really gonna piss about in a car for the next two days?”

Flug shook his head. “No. First, we get a cheap room, then we do some legwork, see what the man on the street’s saying.”

The hybrid scoffed. “Legwork? That’s the excuse you’re going with to escape the utter hell that’s a motel room? Call it what it really is – being a tourist. Don’t even lie, I saw five signs for two different flight museums. Don’t tell me you don’t want to visit at least one.”

“And you don’t want to see the Beer Can House?”

“Oh, I never said that at all; I just wanted you to admit that you wanted to slum about like a civvie.”

\---

“Huh.” Dem tilted her head. “D’ya think anyone’s gone blind in the summer from the light off it?”

“I’m wearing tinted lenses and I think I’m going blind.”

The two stood outside the gate in silence.

“I have seen the face of evil. No, it’s not Black Hat – no, it’s the man who made this house,” Flug said solemnly, only partially-joking. “How has this guy not been arrested for public indecency? Forget public nudity, this is the true offense to the eyes.”

Dem squinted her eyes. “D’ya think if I threw an egg on the roof, it’d go sunny-side-up on it’s own?”

\------

“Welcome to the Lone Star Flight Museum! Two adults?”

Demencia nodded. “Yep!”

“That’ll be thirty-six dollars!” the cashier chirped. 

Flug couldn’t have shoved a $50 at the girl faster, almost vibrating out of sheer joy.

“Enthusiastic, are we?” the girl asked, eyebrow raised.

Demencia sighed. “This is him restrained. Bit of a wing nut.”

“Well, you came to the right place!” she said amiably, handing the duo their tickets. “We’ve got quite a few antique planes - oh, and they’re gone. NEXT!”

\------

If Flug had been moving any faster, Demencia would have been airborne.

“Flugbug, the planes aren’t going anywhere! They’re probably not even flight-worthy!”

Flug merely chuckled. “Just means when we come back, I can shrink ‘em easier – it’s so nice when the planes don’t try and perform evasive maneuvers.” His face darkened. “I’m not looking forward to the process of ‘acquiring’ a new Nighthawk. That was the only one I actually bought.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Planes like those are monitored tightly – it would’ve been logistic hell trying to sneak off with one.”

Arriving in the hangar, Flug was nearly speechless. “W-why. Why did they repaint them? THE COLOR. IS. WRONG.”

Demencia merely rolled her eyes and patted his back. “Well, when we come back, make it a pet project. Paint ‘em the ‘correct’ colors.”

Flug stared ahead, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing. “Why would they do this?”

“Y’know, if we actually had friends, I can imagine the conversations we’d have. Oh hi, Demencia, how’s your week been? Pretty shit, actually. Lost the house, lost a partner, had to go on the run, and the partner still on Earth went catatonic from an inaccurate paint job. How’s your week been?”

Flug let out a weak laugh. “It’s RED!”

Demencia took this opportunity to sling him over her shoulder and remove her boyfriend from the premises, waving to the stunned cashier as they left.

“It’s red. It shouldn’t be red,” Flug stated weakly.


	12. Chapter 12

Flug was still muttering vague curses as Demencia pulled the van into the motel parking lot. 

She turned to Flug, eyes like daggers. “Are ya going to quit whining? Because I _will_ lock you out of the room if you keep bitching.” A loud rumble punctuated her statement, causing her to glance towards the dashboard clock. “Five already? Time flies.”

“Hardly having fun,” Flug muttered.

“Never said that. Just said time flies.” Boy, wasn’t that the truth. “Now, unless you wanna go hungry, I suggest you get your phone up and start Yelping.”

“Anything specific I should be looking for or avoiding?" Wow, there sure were a lot of places he could actually eat at. Been a while since he’d had that luxury. Wait – nope. There weren’t. Fuck, why did Yelp have to have such a shit filtering system? “Never mind. Scratch that. Mediterranean-Chinese Fusion, steakhouse, vegetarian, or… pizza and sushi? I can’t be reading this right.”

Demencia leaned over. “It says Kosher?”

Flug clicked on the name and sighed. “Yeah, but look at the reviews – they’re all saying it’s mediocre at best. Can’t say I expected much. Who the fuck serves sushi and pizza at the same place?”

“What about the Fusion place?”

“I thought you didn’t like Mediterranean?”

“I don’t like grease wrapped in a pita. I don’t _not_ like Mediterranean.”

Flug shook his head. “Dem, you’re a trip. A mystery wrapped in extremely obtuse packaging that somehow misdirects you while telling you EXACTLY what you’re getting.”

\-----

The interior of the restaurant somehow managed to be modern while still retaining some aspects of a soul. Black magic must have been involved, there was no doubt about it.

The shawarma was more than passable, Dem had to admit. “Not bad. Would’ve been nice if they left out the green bits like we asked, but hey, not like I can’t pick ‘em off.”

Flug nearly saw red. “What.” No inflection in his voice was apparent, his aura deceptively calm.

“They left a little bit of greens in mine. Not a big deal, I was expecting it.” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

The scientist had no words. Standing up, Flug headed to the front, bypassing the ever-growing line. “Manager and chef, cook, whoever. Now,” he rasped, tone leaving no room for argument.

The unwitting cashier paled, bowing out to fetch their supervisor.

“Is something wrong?”

“I expected better,” he began. “For a kosher restaurant, I would’ve thought you’d pay more attention to dietary requirements.” Hands shaking, Flug pulled the receipt from the pocket of his hoodie. “My girlfriend can’t have cabbage – she just can’t process it. Guess what the flying fuck she found in her food that I specifically said COULD NOT be on that plate.”

The manager began to sputter. “I- I- I don’t…”

“If anything happens to her…” He stopped, partially to collect his thoughts, partially for effect. “Well, a lawsuit’ll be the least of your worries, to say it simply. As it is, you’re lucky she has an epi-pen.”

A lie – there wasn’t an epi-pen, but they did have contingency plans in case something like this happened. Hospital trips weren’t conducive to a jail-free lifestyle in their line of work.

He held up his hand. “Save it. My people will be in contact. I’ve got to get her home.”

\------

As they passed the half-way point back to their motel, Flug spoke for the first time.

“We’re lucky that the remedial supplements were in the go-bag, Dem.” He glanced to her out of the corner of his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”

Dem scoffed. “I. Am. Fine! I’m here, I’m alive! Fucking hell, I made sure I didn’t eat any!”

“Dem.” So many words flashed through the scientist’s mind. How could he say this. “I can’t lose you. I refuse to lose you, especially not to something so trivial.”

She softened. “Flug-“

“No. Listen. I had a nice time today, for the most part. But… as much as I’d like to believe this is a fun road trip, I can’t live in that state of denial. We’re just killing time at this point, waiting for our time to strike. We are down to what we had in a last-resort go-bag, a few offshore accounts, and each other. I refuse to lose you, not when you’re literally all I have left.” 

The assassin turned to look out the window. A few minutes passed before she spoke. “You’re absolutely right. But you seem to think that I don’t know that. I pretended for a small time that everything was fine, and I got careless. I got too far into denial, heck, I think I saw a hippo while I was there. So let’s make a deal. Before we eat, we check each other’s food, just to make sure that we didn’t miss something.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” he said, numb, words falling from his mouth like so many ashes. “Least we’ve got a plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Flug go to Kosher places for a very specific reason - sandwiches and what's in them. Hold on - hear me out.
> 
> When one keeps Kosher, you don't eat pork, which I've noticed A SHIT TON of sandwiches have in them.
> 
> The smell of cooking pork would remind Flug of burning human flesh. He'd probably have a flashback right to the Prohibition incident.
> 
> As to the struggle of finding Kosher places - I dated a Jewish guy for a year. I can tell you right off the bat, one of the first things that comes to mind of those days was the Yelp Quest. The Yelp Quest deserves those capitals - tagging on that hellsite is utter garbage, and of the few restaurants that are tagged as Kosher, few are ACTUALLY Kosher.
> 
>  
> 
>    
> Okay. Time for the significance of the cabbage thing.
> 
> Demencia has reptilian traits. Now, there are surprisingly few things that reptiles absolutely can’t eat.
> 
> One of those few things that they can't eat is cabbage, which along with kale, spinach, broccoli, and romaine lettuce, contains a chemical that prevents reptiles from absorbing calcium properly.
> 
> Dem is still recovering from a broken arm, whether she wants to admit it or not.
> 
> You can see where this is an issue.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light fluffy BDSM, sub-drop, and self-blame incoming. This chapter is a smutty, fluffy, semi-plotty interlude.

Morning arrived all too early for Demencia’s taste. Her response was a lazy middle finger directed at the window, followed by rolling over, nuzzling into her boyfriend’s chest, and pulling the covers higher until they covered her head.

Flug sighed, a soft smile crossing his face. “Is this all I am to you? A portable heater?”

“Mmm,” Demencia hummed, nodding her head.

Flug sighed in mock irritation, moving his hand to pet her head. “We’re going to have to get up _some_ time today.”

“Noooooo, beeeeed!” she whined. “I dun wanna!”

“Oh, so you don’t want to eat? That’s a shame. I found a place last night that I thought you would have liked,” he teased. “French toast stacked with ricotta and jellies that I’ve never heard of, things I can’t pronounce, overly fancy steaks served with eggs…”

Demencia poked her head out of the covers. “I’m listening, but I’m only half-convinced.”

“I also heard this place serves a damn good Bloody Mary.”

“Fuck, talk foodie to me more, baby.”

“Get dressed first.”

She groaned, still unmoving. “Do I have to?”

“As much as I love seeing all your piercings, something tells me that the public at large would take great offense to it.”

Demencia groaned, arousing a smile from Flug. “Well, even if you don’t want to get out of bed, you’ll be in bed alone. I’m getting a shower.” He moved to slip out of bed. “A nice, hot, shower. Be a shame if I had to take one alone?”

Dem immediately popped her head out of the covers. “Oh, you’re playing dirty.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the TORRENT OF WATER OVER MY NAKED BODY,” he called.

If there was a record for the fastest time from bed to bathroom, Demencia broke it.

Pulling back the shower curtain, Demencia was greeted by a shit-eating grin. “Thought that might get you in here.”

Dem stepped into the shower, returning her lover’s grin as she sank to her knees, caressing Flug’s sides as she sank down. “Oh, it did,” she responded, letting her tongue loll out of her mouth, displaying her twin tongue piercings as she lapped at the tip of Flug’s cock.

Hands attempted to find some measure of purchase in her hair. That wouldn’t do, she thought, removing her attentions. “Arms behind your back, or I stop~” she ordered, tone half-teasing, half-commanding.

Flug keened – he needed something, anything to stabilize himself in the now. Dem’s eyes softened. “There’s a handicap rail behind you. Hold on to that,” she said, her voice a mixture of commanding and loving. Diving down, there was no mercy to be had in her mouth, and no rhythm to find solace in. One second she went at a breakneck pace, threatening to deepthroat her lover, yet the next second she might give only kittenish licks, the horizontal piercings in her tongue only adding to the stimulation.

Somewhere within the haze that his mind had turned into, Flug had become greatly appreciative of that handicap rail, nearly convinced he would have collapsed into a pre-orgasmic pile of mush otherwise. 

Demencia’s hand felt her way up from his leg, wandering toward the base of Flug’s cock, gripping it tightly. A cry wrenched itself from his throat as she only increased the speed of her ministrations.

Somewhere in his sex-induced fugue, Flug whimpered, begging for mercy.

“Hands off the bar,” Demencia ordered, standing up to spread her own legs. “Show me how much you need it. You won’t come until I do, understand?”

Without the support of the rail behind him, Flug sank to his knees, fully prepared to lavish attention on her clit.

Starting with a cautious lick, he was pleased to discover she was very nearly dripping. A shaking hand rose to grasp her hip, while the other stroked her slit, cautiously grazing her entrance. The licks only increased in tempo, unleashing a mixture of barely formed curses, moans, and words of praise. 

“Fu- FUCKING HELL!”

_Well, if that wasn’t a good sign, what was?_ he thought, smirking as he repeated the motion, slipping his finger in, crooking it ever so slightly as he searched. Her thighs tightened around his head. Ah, there it was.

Licks, caresses, gentle kisses, and fingers pounding ever faster were the only concerns of the two lovers. ( _Fuck, when did he slip in more than one?_ was Demencia’s only thought on this – but who cared, this was fantastic.) As her thighs trembled, Flug withdrew his head, using his fingers to finish her. It had only taken one time to learn that yes, Demencia had the potential to kill a man with her thighs, or at the very least, sprain his neck.

As the remains of her orgasm left her, she sank down, meeting his pleading eyes, gently rubbing his throbbing cock. “You did so good, hon, you were so good for me. Come when you want to, you did so good,” she murmured, gently kissing his lips as he came, orgasm coursing through him.

Reaching for a washcloth, Dem soaped it up. Flug was in no position to stand, and she had never been one to ignore her partner’s well being, even before their current relationship. Words of praise spilled from her lips as she caressed her lover with the washcloth, hastily cleaning herself afterwards.

A mumble from Flug. “’S I good?”

“So good, you were so good,” Dem responded, turning off the water and wrapping him in a towel. “Think you can stand?”

He paused, thinking, before ultimately shaking his head.

“That’s fine, don’t worry.” She furrowed her brow. “You don’t normally drop this hard, wha- Oh.” A hard pit grew in her stomach. “Flugbug, look at me. Do you think what happened was your fault?”

Considering Flug refused to meet her eyes, the answer was apparent.

“Flugbug. I need you to look at me.” Her hands gently guided his chin upwards. “What happened – that wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t _ANY_ of our faults. As much as I hate to say it, we were outclassed, and there wasn’t anything we could have done to prevent it.”

Flug averted his eyes. Oh boy. This was deeper than she thought.

“Wh-“ A sudden sense of weightlessness enveloped the scientist. Oh. He was being carried. That was fine, he guessed.

“We aren’t going to brunch, Flugbug. What we’re doing is ordering whatever we want from Grubhub and having a Flug-Needs-A-Break-From-Life Day,” she stated, helping him into a pair of flannel pajamas and covering him in a cocoon of blankets. “Now you’re a cozy lil Flugbug.”

Snickering at her terrible joke, she moved to grab their recently-purchased laptop. “The only choices you’re making today are what we eat and what to watch on Netflix,” she said, leaning next to the cocoon of blankets that was her partner.

Inside the blankets, Flug hid a small smile. Life wasn’t good right now, but maybe it could be again.


	14. Chapter 14

It was day three of their four day stay in Houston, and Flug still was no closer to a new alias.

Among the scratched out names on the cheap notepad their room provided were Doctor Jekyll, Hyde (no title), and Mister Coulter – but none of them were right. There wasn’t the right feeling to them, though Mister Coulter was close, with the underlying humor of a well-done reference. But still… none of them struck Flug as particularly menacing. Mister Coulter sounded like a meek librarian, despite the associated reference of an unknown, powerless figure that severed souls from their hosts.

Flug rubbed at his temples. Well, he could always go with his first pick still. The irony would knock their socks off if the meaning behind it ever came out.

“Dem. How does the name Doctor Sturlesson sound?”

Dem looked up from the laptop; having been monitoring twitter feeds and news bulletins for the last two hours. “Sounds like a reference. LIKE EVERY OTHER NAME YOU’VE PICKED.”

“What? I mentioned this in the car! Dem, this is the only name on this list that was chosen because it WASN’T a reference to a fictional villain. What do you mean, it sounds like a reference?”

“I- you’re joking. I never showed you Durarara?” Gleeful typing from Demencia’s direction. “I cannot believe I haven’t shown it to you yet! Then again, if I had, you probably would’ve written something relating to Izaya… whatever. I can’t believe you – you’re how old and you’ve never seen this?” 

“Dem, the POINT.”

Whirling the computer towards Flug, she showed off what appeared to be a motorcyclist in a leather jumpsuit.

“Is… is that a helmet with cat ears?”

Demencia grinned, humming her affirmation.

“HOW IS THIS A REFERENCE?”

“Look at her name.”

“Celty Sturluson. ARE YOU... Dem. Why is this so funny.”

“She’s a Dullahan,” she said, looking to Flug expectantly.

“A Dullahan. A Celtic fairy guiding souls to the afterlife.” He laughed, a sharp bark that pierced the room. “I merely THINK about using my birth name, and it gets even better.”

“Birth name? Wait. Hold the phone. How many names have you even had?”

“Well, of course my birth name, then there’s one I used from 1900 to 1922, the one from ’22 til ’39 - changed that one because of World War Two, then there was the one I used ‘til the summer of ‘54, then there was Flug Slys. Huh. Never really thought about how long I was using that one. Sixty-eight years… jeez. So, yeah. I’ve had five names.”

“Five names. Damn.” It dawned on her that Flug had said that Sturluson was his birth name. “Wait. Sturluson is your birth name?”

“Spelling’s a bit different, but yes. Flynn Sturlesson.” Flug looked sour as he said it.

Demencia tilted her head. “Wha’s wrong? Don’t care for it?”

“More angry at the fact that my móðir knew that my father wouldn’t acknowledge me, and just wanted to give me something of him.” A slow exhale. “Typically, a single mother would give her child a matronymic last name – not her. She had to love him, even if he’d never love me.”

A slow chuckle. “Thinking more about it, using that name for what we’re about to do is the perfect fuck-you to that deadbeat, isn’t it? Doctor Sturlesson. Yeah… that has a good ring to it.” 

“Cyrene,” Demenica said, entirely unprompted. “Looked up basilisks on Wikipedia. It’s where basilisks come from, according to some dead Greek fuck.”

Flug stared at her, eyes uncomprehending. “Did you just… did you just call _Pliny the Elder **some dead Greek fuck**_?” By the end of the sentence, his voice had cracked five ways to Sunday.

“I’m not wrong.”

“HE CREATED THE FIRST ENCYCLOPEDIA!”

“And upon further reading, he died like a bitch to the monster we share our bed with.” 

“What?”

“Yeah, listen to this – he heard Mount Vesuvius was erupting, and one of his friends wanted help getting off the island. The crew of his boat were all ‘dude, don’t do this, don’t be a fuckin’ moron’… and when they arrived, they were too late. So the guy sits down, and after sitting down, he couldn’t get back up. Died of a heart attack… or toxic fumes... or aggravated asthma. Nobody really knows. So yeah. Some _fat_ dead Greek fuck.”

“I… I need a minute.”

“Take your time.” Demencia hummed. “I wonder if there’s a Drunk History for supervillains?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dem would be fantastic on Drunk History, don't even front.


	15. Chapter 15

Meanwhile, in the penthouse suite of the Mexican branch of the International League of Heroes, an intern was shaking in their boots.

“What. Do. You. Mean. By. Not. Them.” What was normally a melodic, heavenly voice, a voice worthy of any angelic herald, had turned sharp and commanding, a voice befitting Mettaton.

“The bodies were found to belong to two missing heroes. Thunderstrike and The Botanist,” the intern stated, outwardly calm, but inwardly screaming. “According to genetic testing, there’s no possible way that the bodies could belong to anyone else.” Flipping a page on their clipboard, they continued. “The Jane Doe’s been identified as a heroine known as Thunderstrike. Real name Milen Enstorm, age twenty. Talent was with sound waves and electric manipulation. Went missing around four months ago, on a supposedly unrelated mission.”

“And the male?” Angelus asked quietly, fingers clenching the air.

“The Botanist. Real name Celyn Sayer, age twenty-seven. Sir, have you ever seen or read Batman?”

Angelus nodded in silent affirmation.

“Imagine Poison Ivy… if they were on OUR side. They did some utterly fantastic bio-engineering that revolutionized some of the ways we currently treat our heroes.” The intern flipped another page. “They went missing five months ago on their way to a bio-med conference. They never arrived, and inquiries went nowhere.”

Angelus turned to look out through the wall of windows. “Get the United States branch on the phone. Tell them to double down on border, port, and air security. I’ll be getting on the phone, arranging the same.” Turning back, the hero narrowed his eyes. “I just hope they haven’t already breached the border.” His pale gold eyes blurred before shifting to a stormy blue, finally noticing the intern still in the room. “Why are you still here? GO!”

The intern fled. There was a reason that rousing Angelus’ anger was often called invoking the wrath of God.

\------

Ah, the intern had left. Good. What they were about to do usually brought the mundane to their knees, crying in terror.

Angelus pressed a button, closing the windows and lowering the lights. Clearing his mind, Angelus sat down on a cushion specifically for this purpose, legs crossed. His eyes lost focus, turning what were once storm blue eyes a pale gold, further morphing into orbs of blinding golden light. Wings unfurling, hundreds of golden eyes opened, revealing themselves amongst the feathers, further shifting into miniature suns. A hum erupted from the room around – a discordant mix of a heavenly chorus and whispers from things man was not meant to know.

The sound abruptly ceased after mere minutes, all blinding light cutting out as the sound did.

“Well, this might just be interesting~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thunderstrike/Milen Enstorm was used with permission and belongs to EvilMastermindOfDoom.
> 
>  
> 
> [Picture of Angelus, drawn by me.](http://tyr-the-shining.tumblr.com/post/172264312304/angelus-from-my-fic-in-this-quiet-room-pose)


	16. Chapter 16

Tensions were high at Arsenault’s Outfitters. It was somewhere around nine in the morning on the fourth day, and there was still no sign of the store’s most lucrative customers.

Terrin looked to the clock, biting his lip. “If I never have another commission like this again, I will die a happy man,” he whispered.

The jingle of the door’s bell cut the silence as finely sharpened scissors through cloth.

“I do trust you have the coats, bodysuit, and jacket?” The voice was light, but had an edge like a knife. A feminine chuckle accompanied the voice. Terrin was afraid to look up.

“Yes, right this way,” the tailor muttered, ushering the duo to the fitting rooms – or at least, attempting to. The steps had stopped some feet back, by the range of masks.

“How much for this one?”

Tentatively, Terrin turned to look. He had never seen the doctor’s face, and had heard horror stories regarding those that had. To the tailor’s relief, the doctor was actually wearing the mask in question. It was a half-mask in the Colombina style, painted to look like cracked porcelain. He hadn’t expected to get any interest in it.

“One hundred and fifty dollars,” Terrin squeaked. “It may look like porcelain, but it’s actually a form of polyethele-“

“Add it to the bill. There’s just something intimidating about a mask, isn’t there? Ah- we were heading to the fitting rooms, no? Lo siento, please, carry on.”

Terrin managed to lead the two to the fitting rooms with no further detours. “It was a bit of a task completing all of this within the time allowed, I had to bring in my assistants for the two other coats- naturally, I made the first myself.”

As the doctor tried on the overcoat, Terrin allowed himself to ask a question that had been on his mind for the last four days. “If I may ask… why an Ulster? They’re hardly in season, haven’t been for over a century.”

The masked man grinned. “Familiarity and memories, I suppose. After playing timid for so long, I needed something to get me back into the swing of things.” He spun, watching the attached capelet whirl out. “Those days were fun; villainy was just so… hands-on. You wanted someone dead? You did it yourself.”

The tailor blanched. If this man had been playing timid and still been so ruthless, he would have hated to see the doctor ‘in the swing of things’. He’d rather not dwell on the implications of the second bit; he’d prefer his worldview intact.

“Regarding the coat – are there any alterations needed?” 

The doctor ran his hands along the inside of the coat, grinning when he found them. “I’m quite pleased, actually. Pockets had slipped my mind entirely. Good job.”

The doctor’s associate stepped out of the secondary fitting room, apparently already having changed into and back out of the clothing provided. “Motion’s good. Jacket’s awesome – spikes were a nice touch.”

“About the costs-“

“Charge it to the secondary account. The first one will bounce or worse,” the doctor stated, waving his hand dismissively. “Also, I’ll need these bagged.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plazzy Scouser: someone who speaks with a fake Liverpudlian accent and uses Scouse slang in order to seem authentic. Also see "writer of this fic".

The two had made it all the way to the Texas/Louisiana border, a grand total of one hundred and ten miles out of Houston, before they experiencing any sort of interruption.

The sound of helicopters and sirens cut through the general hubbub of the Interstate. Flug peered out of the window. “Looks like we lost some of our advantage – DNA results must’ve been released. Was hoping I wouldn’t have to make a debut so early,” he muttered, pulling over to the side of the road, climbing into the back seat. “Dem, keep an eye out.”

In the back, Flug rummaged through the bags, pulling on a protective vest, a button-up shirt, and a pair of dress slacks, pulling on the coat and a set of gloves. Tying his hair back with a ribbon, he secured the mask to his face. Perfect – well, the clothes were. The available weaponry was hardly so ideal, limited to what was in the go-bag – a multi-use raygun, a few knives, and a miniaturized mace. The knives were holstered onto his pant leg, gun primed.

“I’d sit this one out, Dem,” he stated, opening the back door. “Little too suspicious if two new villains show up right now.”

The assassin grumbled. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean she liked it. As he left, she climbed in the back herself, grabbing a pair of binoculars. This should be good.

\------

Flug cracked his neck as he approached the barrier of police cars, gun held loosely to his side.

“SIR, PLEASE PUT DOWN THE GUN,” a loudspeaker crackled.

Flug smiled. He knew EXACTLY how to throw them off. This would be fun.

“Th’ feck’s aba’, la?” He kept walking. “Really doin’ me ‘ead in like this.”

Two officers lowered their guns, glancing towards each other in sheer confusion.

“No, really, why ya sittin’ off?” Flug continued, laying it on thicker out of sheer sadism – there was no other word for it. The scientist was delighting in their hurt confusion. “Lookin’ ta go down the banks wi’ some west larry?”

The police weren’t sure what this lunatic was saying, but they also weren’t sure they wanted to, especially with how wide his grin was getting.

“Well, y’ found ‘un!”

The gun was raised faster than any of the befuddled officers could properly track, and by the time the first gun was raised, the owner was downed. The nearest officer knelt to check his comrade’s vitals as a volley of return fire began, only to be deflected by some sort of near transparent, vaguely opalescent shield.

The figure continued onwards, toying with a dial on the side of his gun. “Jus’ like me da, plazzies, th’ bunch,” they stated dispassionately, aiming the gun to the feet of the opposing forces.

In response, several of the officers tried to fling themselves away from a blast that never arrived. Instead, they found themselves immobilized, picked off one by one until two officers remained – the officer who had kneeled to check on his comrade, and the unconscious comrade in question.

“W-who are you?” the officer cried out, not expecting an answer. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or so. A child, really, Flug thought, aiming the gun at the man in question, freezing him further. “Sturlesson. Doctor Sturlesson,” he stated, dragging the unconscious officer away as his partner looked on, horrified. “Ah – should be free aba’ an hour.” The doctor grinned, looking down at his captive. “Friend, though – na’ so lucky.”

Where the man went, the officer wouldn’t be able to tell – he fainted right then and there.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gore
> 
> Summary: Monster!Flug eats a dude's heart/soul. They go on their way to Louisiana.

Flug scoffed. What had happened to the steel backbones that police USED to have? Shaking his head, he lugged his captive into the brush.

“Just like the old days,” he mumbled. “The mark, barely a fight, and a meal.” Flug sighed, pulling out a knife that could have been used to slice dimensions open in some other world, but he’d always used it for this. “It used to be a bit more sporting then. Little more even,” he complained, disrobing the torso of the officer. “With what I’ve got on me, it’s hardly a threat!”

Removing his tailored gloves, Flug replaced them with disposable plastic gloves. “Wouldn’t want to ruin them this early,” he said, explaining his own actions to the unconscious victim.

“And here we make the first insicion!” With much gusto, Flug sliced downwards, revealing a thin slice of the ribcage underneath, causing the kidnapped man to scream once and then pass out AGAIN from pain. “And now… WE MAKE IT A SPREAD!”

With a maniacal look in his eyes, Flug licked his teeth, all growing noticeably sharper. One incision horizontally at the top of the slice, one slice at the bottom. Peel back, and get ready to do some breaking. Oh, and wasn’t that one of the best parts? Flug mused, a small amount of drool coming from his lips.

A swift few snaps revealed Flug’s prize. The heart – luckily still beating. It would have defeated the purpose if it had stopped. With extreme caution, Flug bent down and lifted the heart up as much as he could without removing it entirely. “Thanks for the meal, idiota,” he murmured before biting into the heart, a small mist of an indescribable color floating into his mouth as he ate.

After the last bite of the policeman’s heart, Flug tilted his head. “Huh. You really were a coward, weren’t you? Not a single fight you didn’t chicken out of. Lemon all the way down.”

When Flug finally made his way back to the van, having detoured quite a bit to ensure he wasn’t followed, blood was smeared on his face, and his handkerchief was just as gorey.

Demencia snickered. “Have a nice meal?”

Flug tilted his hand from side to side. “Tasted like lemons. Piece of shit, but he filled me up. D’ya get the helicopters down?”

Dem scrunched her nose. “Asking me this like I can’t take care of two helicopters. One grenade and a shoelace could bring those idiots down. Anyway. You’re a shit driver after eating. Gimme the wheel, you just turn on the GPS.”

Flug groaned. She had a point. He was fuller than he had been in a while, the combination of soul, heart, and adrenaline making him more sluggish than an American after Thanksgiving. Somewhere in the back of his always-racing mind Flug wondered if the combination somehow generated a chemical similar to tryptophan.

“Fine. Keep us within traffic norms. Next spot’s Lake Charles. We’ve got a few opportunities there, provided that the name still holds water. Even without it, I think we’ve got a way into some high-end places. You remember the time when we practically robbed Vegas with blackjack, poker, and roulette?”

Demencia nodded. That had been fun. The two of them at poker, Flug running numbers on roulette, and the uncanny knack knowing when to quit on blackjack had served them well. She idly wondered if their ban was still in effect.

“There’s three casinos there… and an aircraft rental not too far from the city,” Flug said with a lazy smile. “I’m sure you see the plan.”

Demencia sobered up for a moment. “Wait- but what about the Puppetma-“

She wouldn’t get an answer anytime soon, as her companion was fast asleep.

“Oh fuck you, Flug.”


End file.
